


Midnight Blue

by gelbes_gilatier



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Police, Bomb Squad, Christmas, Cops, F/M, Fighting, Het, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, Locker Room, Reunions, Separations, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-21
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 22:31:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2445524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gelbes_gilatier/pseuds/gelbes_gilatier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bomb Squad AU for Stargate Atlantis. </p><p>#1 - Sergeant Evan Lorne really has had it with Officer Laura Cadman... and he's gonna tell her so.</p><p>#2 - Officer Laura Cadman is pretty sure she botched her relationship with Sergeant Evan Lorne... and all because of one little question.</p><p>#3 - This really isn't the kind of Christmas Sergeant Evan Lorne had planned for this year...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sometimes She's Wrong, Sometimes I'm Right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scherryzade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scherryzade/gifts).



> Been a while since I wrote those three fics but since I decided to gradually bring my fic over from LJ to AO3 and this one's just three chapters, I decided to do that tonight. It never was intended to become a trilogy but somehow it did and eh... here it is.

**Sometimes She’s Wrong, Sometimes I’m Right **

_“Sometimes it’s black_   
_Sometimes it’s white_   
_Sometimes she’s wrong_   
_Sometimes I’m right_   
_Sometimes we talk about it or we figure it out_   
_But then she just changed her mind_   
_Sometimes she’s hot_   
_Sometimes I’m cold_   
_Sometimes my head wants to explode_   
_But when I think about it I’m so in love with her.”_

_LFO, “Every Other Time”_

He’ll kill her. Today he _will_ kill her. He’s been thinking about it a few times since… no, scratch that, he’s been thinking about it since the day she joined the team. But _today_ he’ll go _through_ with it. Seriously, he will.

Because, see, he’s the NYPD Alpha Bomb Disposal Team’s Sergeant, and he’s been that for almost eight years now and before that he did time in an EOD unit in the USMC and _never_ in all his time with crazy bomb experts he met someone like _her_. Officer Laura Cadman, superior nutcase and probably the death of him if he doesn’t kill her first.

“I can do that in my sleep,” she’d said and almost skipped off to deal with the bomb some stupid wannabe terrorist had planted in one of Grand Central Station’s baggage lockers – even though he’s _still_ trying to figure out how anyone could _skip_ in a damn EOD suit.

Dammit, he’d wanted to say, we’ve got _robots_ for that but she had _insisted_ on doing it by hand, saying something about the nature of the bomb and its location making it impossible for a robot to reach it and grudgingly, he’d agreed, while O’Brien and Mendoza had been giving him those _looks_ again… like they were wondering if he’d argue with _them_ like he argued with her or if he’d just let them do their job, seeing as they were both male.

Yeah, right, “I can do that in my sleep,” _his ass_. No one can do _that_ in their sleep, not even Cadman, despite her records stating that she was always the best in practically everything she did. Right from the beginning that had irked him, since he _hadn’t_ been and it had taken him _years_ of painfully learning the ropes and working his _ass_ off to get where he is today.

And then a little red-head breezes in and takes the entire department by force, charming them into oblivion so no one would realize how _insane_ she is. Because, you know, after he’d given her his grudging approval that she was going to be the one to defuse the bomb – with the only half-joking addition of “Try not to blow it up this time, Caddy” from O’Brien – she’d skipped off in that suit… only to re-appear _without_ it after a few minutes.

He’d tried to call her back – even contemplated _arresting_ her for a moment or two – but she’d already been inside and they’d been on the clock and so he’d let her go, hoping to God that just for once Cadman _wouldn’t_ be so vague on the whole ‘not blowing things up’ thing.

Okay… okay, so usually, she really isn’t. She’d only blown up things three times since she came to the team, and at two of them, he’d _ordered_ her to do it… even though that _glinting_ in her eyes had weirded him out pretty much. However _today_ , she _wasn’t_ supposed to blow it up but she still did and he’ll never forget the way his heart seemed to stop beating when the blast shook the building… all the way until they heard her confirm to them that she was still alive between coughing and gagging.

Seriously, he swears, in the seconds – minutes, hours, _eternity_ – until they heard her voice again he just stood there… couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t _think_ … could only stare and… no, could only stare. And for _that_ he’ll kill her. No one makes Sergeant Evan Lorne just stand there and stare, really _no one_. _Most of all_ not some explosions happy red-head with a temper that was more volatile than every bomb he ever had to deal with – and there had been some real whoppers among them – and a laugh that still rang in his ear even hours after it stopped and a perpetual spark in her eyes that always seemed to challenge him…

 _Dammit_ . He won’t go there _again_. He’s been there much too often since she joined the team and he knows how dangerous it is to go _there_ – so dangerous that he doesn’t even dare to put a name on it – and that’s why he’ll finally get rid of her _right now_.

With that resolve firmly in his head, he practically throws open the female officers’ locker room door, so forcefully that it actually hits the wall with a crash and startles a few officers who just got dressed or are in the process of doing so. Somewhere deep down he knows that every one of them could sue him for sexual harassment and that every one of them would win, hands down but right now he’s past caring about such delicacies.

Shocked, they all look at him but before one of them can start screaming, he just growls “Out,” and to his amazement – or at least the small part of his usual rule-adhering, controlled, and before Cadman came to the team even _laid-back_ self that’s still there is amazed at that – they hastily pack their belongings and scramble to get out of the room as fast as they can.

Well… all except a red-head in civvies that looks maddeningly unimpressed, with her duffel slung over her shoulder and her eyebrows raised, as if she’s just mildly wondering what his questionable entry is all about.

Okay.

Right.

Composure. He can still kill her but first he needs to get some of his usual decorum back. Deliberately slow, he turns around and closes the door, trying to exchange this red hot fury that seems to have taken him over ever since he heard her over the radio, telling them that they shouldn’t get their panties in a twist because jeez, of course she’d survive one little blast with a kind of cold detachment that would allow him to talk low enough that no one would hear him shouting out of the damn women’s locker room.

When he turns back… she’s still standing there, still looking unmoved. He takes a deep breath. “What, in the name of Jesus, Mary and holy St. Joseph, did you think you were doing, _Officer Cadman_?” Dammit, there was far too much repressed rage and fury in that. Too much growling, not enough detachment.

And yes, it just results in her eyebrows rising just a little higher. “Uh… my job?” What the… the _audacity_.

After just two words from her, he already feels his resolve crumbling. And it’s all her damn fault. “Don’t give me that crap, Cadman. I’m still your goddamn Sergeant.”

Also, it really doesn’t help that she looks very much like she had to resist the temptation to roll her eyes. “I was doing my job, _sir_.”

Couldn’t she at least flinch? Wince? Bat an eyelash? Knowing full well how menacing he can appear – you had to, if you wanted to keep an EOD company under your command – he takes a few steps towards her. “Your _job_ , Officer, is listening to your _superior_ , first and foremost. And your superior told you to _go in there in that damn fucking suit_.”

“With all due respect, sir… my job is to defuse bombs. And that’s what I did in there. I defused a bomb. Well… or tried to, at least.” There! There it was! Just a tiny little flicker of insecurity. Very minute but he did see it – and he’ll just ignore the fact that apparently he knows her well enough to actually notice it by now and that it slightly creeps him out and annoys him.

But at least that’s new fuel for his agitation. “If I may remind you, Cadman, you didn’t defuse the bomb. The thing fucking _exploded_.” Okay, _what_ had he wanted to avoid at any cost and just did anyway? Right… no shouting anymore. Shouting doesn’t exactly give you the air of superiority he desperately needs now to put her in her place.

She sets the duffel back on the bench in front of her, in a motion that looks deliberately controlled. “If I may remind you, _sir_ , that wasn’t _my_ fault. I did the best I could to actually _contain_ the explosion.”

Wait… that’s not how it’s supposed to go. She’s not supposed to be the calm and collected one… the one that has a point. “You… you could have been _dead_ , Cadman!” Mh… no, that wasn’t what he’d wanted to say. But at least there was no trace of worry in his voice, only justified anger.

“Actually, sir… I would have been dead if I’d worn the suit.” Ah, there’s the temper building up. She’s trying to keep her cool but he can see it in the way her hands curled into fists. And is her breathing starting to get uneven?

A few more steps towards her… until he’s only an arm length or so away from her. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. They’re not protective suits for nothing and…”

“And I would have never been able to get away in time if I’d worn the damn thing!” Right. Now she _is_ shouting. And apparently, she’s not finished yet. “I knew the layout of the compartment and I knew _exactly_ what to do in case I couldn’t defuse it. If I’d worn the suit, I’d _never_ have been able to duck behind a corner and get away from the blast. Yes, _then_ I’d have been _dead_. I’d have been dead if I’d listened to _your_ orders!” That’s _not_ true.

Even though a little voice in his head tells him that it _is_ … he’s convinced she’s wrong because dammit, he’s the Sarge and the Sarge’s orders _never_ kill his people. He gets ready to tell her where exactly she can shove her accusations but… she’s still not done. “So, if you don’t mind, I’ll go home now which I can still do only because I didn’t follow you like a lemming. Good night, sir.”

With that, she grabs her bag and brushes past him and the only reason why he lets her do that is that no one _ever_ talked to him like that and that did shock him. Honestly, no subordinate ever dared to make preposterous statements and then even tried to _get away with it_.

Thankfully, he catches himself just in time. “I didn’t dismiss you, Officer.” She… oh, she stops and he half expects her turn around and just give him the raised eyebrows but… she doesn’t. She just stays there, waiting… for what?

Dammit, he’s really had it with her and for some reason… this is the moment where everything inside of him – the pent-up frustration about how she shook up the team when she joined them and that she never _stopped_ shaking it up and the anger about her irreverence and the confusion about the tight feeling in his chest whenever she readily walks into a potential death trap – makes _him_ explode.

“Now, listen to me, Officer, and listen good. I’ve had it with you.” With you and your goddamn laughter and your grins and your hazel eyes that just won’t leave me alone. “You breeze in here, with your spotless record and your sparkling awards and your stellar results and you think everyone will fall to your feet.” Just like I would, if I’d actually allow myself to. “But I’ve got news for you. I don’t and I’m sick and tired of you thinking that all that crap entitles you to behave like an idiot and endanger anyone’s life. You may have been your Academy tutors’ pet and have everything presented to you on a silver platter but…”

He never gets to finish that sentence, though, because… because he gets slammed into the row of lockers behind him. 140 pounds live weight are pressing him to the wall and a pair of hazel eyes are blazing at him from beneath a few loosened red strands… and there’s a surprisingly strong forearm pressed against his throat. “You don’t know _anything_ about me, Sarge,” she hisses and yeah, he totally believes her because he _never_ saw her like this, _ever_ before. “And I’d suggest you’d just shut your damn mouth if you don’t want to be dismembered _right now_. Sir.”

Jesus fucking _Christ_ , that’s definitely a side of her he hasn’t seen before… and God, she’s _beautiful_. Her cheeks are flushed with anger, her gaze is alert, her mouth is just a little open and she’s breathing heavily and… too… fucking… close…

Suddenly, from one moment to the next those lips he just admired are on his and he has no idea who started it but it doesn’t matter anyway because _fuck_ that feels good… _way_ too good. She’s not cutting him any slack in the kissing department but he wouldn’t want it any other way, anyway. Want… need… _more_ …

He barely registers that one of her hands is immersed in his hair like she’s holding on for dear life and that the other has somehow found its way beneath his shirt because he’s way too busy with freeing her hair from the bun she usually wears and freeing her shirt from her jeans – and then freeing _her_ from the shirt – with the other one.

When it doesn’t work, he grudgingly uses both his hands but his mouth never leaves her skin and oh God, how he loves that hair and the way she growls when unbuckling his belt apparently takes way too long for her likening and just… just basically everything she does and whoa, those fingers opening his jeans and tugging at the hem and… “Aaah, _fuck_.”

What… somehow they reversed their position and she just hit the locker doors with her back and… “You okay?” And there it is. The worry he could keep out of his voice when he was yelling at her just came back with a vengeance.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Now can we please…” Damn, that impatience turns him on like there’s no tomorrow but the way she just swore when her back hit the locker doors… like it _hurt_.

“Cadman…” She shakes her head.

“I’m _good_. Now just fucking _stop_ talking, will you?” And yeah, in true Cadman fashion she doesn’t even wait for him to answer, just draws him in for another kiss and there’s nothing left to do for him than to oblige her.

Well, and it’s not like he doesn’t _like_ doing it. Because, damn, if he’s honest, he’s been dreaming about kissing that creamy, freckled skin ever since she showed up at the PD’s annual picnic in a spaghetti strap shirt and a skirt that showed off the gorgeous legs he just had the pleasure of liberating from the jeans they were clad in.

So much wonderful soft skin under his fingers and his mouth… and her fingers all over his body, feeling cool against his overheated skin, digging into his back, pressing him against her breasts, her firm, flat stomach… the hot triangle between her thighs.

Thank God he got rid of his pants and boxers early enough because there’s no way in hell he could have borne having to wait to get inside of her. As he enters her, it feels way better than in any of his dreams – yeah, yeah, if he’s honest he _did_ dream about this, way too many times to keep count – mostly because she actually _urges_ him to, planting her hands firmly on his buttocks and meeting him halfway.

Oh _fuck_ , it feels good and he can’t stop he just has to go on and on and oh God there it is and it feels like she’s surrounding him or he’s surrounding her and it doesn’t matter anymore who’s surrounding whom because… _holy Mother of God don’t ever let this stop make it go on_ …

It does stop, though, but somehow that’s not all that bad because she’s still there and he can feel her hot breath against the skin of the crook of his neck and he doesn’t ever want to let her go again.

In between trying to catch his breath, he can’t help placing a few more little kisses on her skin, unwilling to let her go because he’s pretty sure it was just a one time thing – well, it really _should_ be just a one time thing, at least – born of both their frustrations and it had nothing to do with any _feelings_ and… _and he should really let her go_.

Forcing himself to do it, he finally pulls away from her, averting her gaze because whatever is in there, he doesn’t want to see it. He also tries not to look at her while getting dressed but against his better judgment his gaze _does_ fall on her when she’s turned her back to him… and it nearly makes him miss a beat.

There are bruises all over her back and a few scratches on her arms as well. Why… why ever didn’t he see them _before_? And it also… dawns on him… that this _wasn’t_ a one time thing, at least not for him. Seeing those bruises… it suddenly awakens the furious wish to take care of her, just as tenderly as he’d been fiery with her a moment ago. He swallows.

And then… as if by themselves… his legs carry him over to her and his hand has reached out to gently touch a bruise of deep purple on her shoulder blade. _Now_ she winces and turns her face towards him, if not the rest of her upper body… it’s a strange gesture of vulnerability that somehow touches him. “Laura…” He swallows again, wondering briefly what to say… until he settles with an almost clumsy, “let’s get you home, huh?”

When it registers with her what he just said – he’s pretty sure it’s the implied _we_ that gets to her – she turns away and something in her posture makes him feel like she just closed herself off again. “I’m fine. You don’t have to take… I don’t want to…” Oh. Oh… he… he thinks he got what this is about. Laura _is_ a bad-ass female cop among bad-ass male cops who tries to be more bad-ass than all of them together, after all. Kinda weird how easy reading her suddenly comes to him, now that pretending to himself that she doesn’t mean anything to him became kind of obsolete.

“I’m not taking pity on you, Laura. I just want to… take care of you.” There. It’s out. And it’s scaring him a little how easy _that_ was. It’s not supposed to be that easy, right?

Laura, however… still can’t look at him and it’s starting to wrench his nerves because… good God, what if it really _was_ just a one time thing for her? “I’ll be fine. It’s not the first time I got a little banged up. I’ll get over it.”

Argh. He feels irritation building up again because “a little banged up” his ass. Sure, he’s seen worse in his time both with the Corps and the force but damn… the fact that it’s _her_ back that’s covered in bruises somehow makes it all worse than it probably is and the thought of letting her go home with that and having to deal with it all on her own… it doesn’t appeal to him. Trying to be gentle, he grabs her shoulders and turns her to face him. “I know… hey, look at me.”

She tries to avert his eyes again but he’ll be damned if he lets her go on with this. “I mean it. Look at me, Laura.” _Something_ in his tone makes her look up again and it astounds and even shocks him a little how suddenly he can see the toll today took on her and that she knows _very_ well just _how_ close she came to dying today. He takes a deep breath. “I know you’ll get over it on your own.” And now… for his last resort. “But you don’t _have_ to. At least not for tonight.” And maybe not anymore at all, if you let me, he wants to say but senses in a rare bout of empathy that it wouldn’t do any good if he did, at least not yet.

It takes her a moment of hesitation… but then she bites her lip and looks up, with a mixture of insecurity and sheepishness in her eyes. “So… you’re not mad at me anymore?”

God, _no_. Or at least… at least not for the wrong reasons. He still _is_ mad at her, at least kind of, but he also kind of gave up trying to tell himself that it was because she disregarded a direct order. But yeah, it’s just not the right place and time for that, now. He sighs. “No, I’m not.” There’s relief on her face… and then it just kind of slips out, “But if you _ever_ do that again and survive it, I _will_ kill you. Do I make myself clear?”

Dammit. Dammit, dammit, _dammit_. Why did he just say that? If he’d wanted to tell her that he was madly in love with her, he could have just _said_ it because it would have meant the exact same thing. There’s another moment of silence and he’s ready to leave the room because from the look on her face, it was very plain in _his_ face what he’d _really_ meant to say… but then she just says, “Crystal, sir,” and he… believes her. She _did_ get what he wanted to say and she’s… dead serious that she _understood_ him. “And… you’re right. Let’s just… go home, huh?” What? “ _My_ home… Evan.” There’s a tiny bit of impatience on her face and a hint of amusement and…

Oh.

Huh.

Oh, right. She wants… she wants him to accompany her home. Okay… okay, he can do that. After all, it had been _him_ who’d proposed it first. “Yeah,” he says and grabs her duffel, simply ignoring her attempts at protesting, “let’s go home.” She just smiles… and then she slips her hand into his, as if she’d done it a thousand times and maybe she really did in her head, just like he gave her a kiss top of her head a thousand times in _his_ head… well, he thinks and _gives_ her that kiss, only one way to find out, after all.


	2. Trying to Protect My Point of View

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Officer Laura Cadman is pretty sure she botched her relationship with Sergeant Evan Lorne... and all because of one little question.

**Trying to Protect My Point of View**  

 _“You left me out there  
In the early morning rain  
Why would you believe me now  
I'm only trying to protect my point of view  
I want you to let me in.”_  
 __  
Milow, “One of It”

 Well… that’s it then, she takes it. And it’s not like she couldn’t have seen it coming, either. Which is probably the thing that irritates her most. Evan Lorne and her… she should have known it won’t work out in the long run. But then again… _no one_ and her works for long. Rodney didn’t work – he had seemed to be always in her head, and always in the wrong places – Carson didn’t work because he wasn’t in her head _enough_ … so why should Evan be any different?

 But the thing is… this time she’d let herself believe that for the first time in _ages_ her _very_ long streak of bad luck with men had _finally_ ended… seeing as Evan and she had made it for almost a _year_ – which is longer than any of her relationships in the last five years… maybe even longer – until… until they didn’t.

 Dammit, it had been going so _well_ … after a relatively short period of awkward dancing around each other at the PD when other people were around and nearly frantic craving of the other’s presence when they were alone – everything ranging from short pecks on the cheek to heavy, if short make-out sessions in dark corners at the PD and quiet evenings on the couch to… not so quiet nights in bed at either of their homes had been fair game – she’d gotten her transfer to another team approved and things had evened out… even become normal.

 Well, okay, normal aside from the occasional op going a little awry or… yeah, right, normal in _cop_ terms, not in civilian terms. But still… _normal_.

 And then he just _had_ to go and stir it all up. Just one little innocent question, whispered in bed, after a hard day and a soft evening… “You know, I’ve been wondering… what _did_ you mean when you said I didn’t know anything about you?” he’d said and the only answer she’d had for him had been turning away from him to face the wall and watch the lights and shadows from the city play over it, even long after she’d heard his breathing even out behind her.

 He’d tried to ask her again but when she hadn’t answered and given off stony silence instead, he’d fallen silent and there had been the rustling of sheets… but the arm she’d been expecting to come around her waist had never come and she’d known that this relationship was doomed as well.

 The break-up didn’t come immediately… but when they were together, she felt watched by him, like he wanted to get into her head but didn’t know how. It had irritated her and shortened her already short fuse even more and they’d found themselves arguing a lot more often… It’s not like they hadn't had their fights over the course of the year – kind of impossible _not_ to get in a fight when the whole relationship started with a _spectacular_ one – but they were always like thunderstorms; brewing a little beforehand, and then one big discharge with lots of thunder and lightening but clear air afterwards. The fighting that had started after the stupid question; that had been… _different_. More like petty bickering, sometimes amounting to half-hearted attempts at clearing the air with a bang… but somehow it had never worked.

 He never brought up the question again but she just _knew_ that it was what was behind all of this. He wanted an answer to it and she couldn’t _give_ it to him… partly because it was classified and partly – and that’s the _bigger_ part – because she didn’t want to wake sleeping dogs… not again.

 Or at least that’s what she told herself for two unbearable months, until she’d had enough and _he_ ’d had enough and they had kind of come to an understanding that they needed a break from each other – actually, it was more like she needed a break from _herself_ because all this constant thinking about the answer she owed him brought it all up again but admitting that to herself would have meant a few things she wasn’t ready for yet – and… and that had been it.

 Well, for three weeks, at least. But the churning wouldn’t stop and she would keep on thinking about that damn answer and she _missed_ him so very much _and_ it was starting to show in her performance… and because you can’t afford _anything_ to show in your performance in the kind of work she did on a daily basis, she’d done something that was probably both stupid and dangerous.

 She’d hunted down her records. That is to say, the version Evan _didn’t_ know… the version _no one_ aside from two or three people at the PD knew. The one where her Academy results are still pretty good but not half as stellar as in the records Evan had first accused her of and then liked to tease her with and the one… the one that contains an op that didn’t appear in the… adjusted version of her records.

 After calling in a series of favors and shamelessly bribing and even threatening one or two people, she’d had an exclusive copy in her hands and she’d marched into Evan’s office with that. Originally she’d wanted to present them as a peace offering but when she’d come in, he’d looked up and… there had been the same look on his face he’d usually worn before… their little fight in the female officers’ locker room about a year ago and somehow that had confused and irritated and hurt her so much that all she had been able to do had been throw the records on his desk and tell him “It’s all in there,” before heading home.

 That had been yesterday and since then she hasn’t seen or heard anything of him because it’s her day off… and instead of spending it outside and enjoying New York City in the spring time, she holed up in her apartment, hiding from all the shadows his question and her hunt for her records had woken up again.

 It’s all back… going undercover in a weapon dealers’ ring, insisting that she could do it, even though she hadn't been part of the force for very long at the time, desperate to prove herself and make her daddy proud… having her cover blown because of a stupid mistake, being prisoner of the weapon dealers’ boss for a week… they could get them – _all_ of them – and a lot of that _had_ been her merit but that thought never made the memories of the week in captivity go fully away.

 Of course she’d had counseling – it’s actually in her records as well – and it had helped, at least a little and she’d been able to move on and do her job, changing divisions completely, with a little help from the PD brass. They’d wanted to award her something big but she’d asked them – nearly _begged_ them – to let her award be that her records be… altered and her position be as far away from Organized Crime as she could.

 It wasn’t that she’d been afraid of the dealers in prison. No, she’d wanted to get away from everything in her _head_ and never go back to it… until Evan had made her sound like a person she wasn’t – despite telling herself that she was _that_ person, not the one in the other records – she’d snapped and made a mistake.

 God, she thinks, that was so _stupid_ … telling him he didn’t know anything about her. She should have known that he wouldn’t let it go. He’s a _cop_ , for Heaven’s sake, of _course_ he would investigate. And by now she’s pretty sure that he did. Which led her to the question of what he actually found out and if… if maybe… whatever he found out… had been another reason for the testiness he’d displayed in the last weeks of their relationship.

 She groans and tries to curl up tighter in the arm chair, if that’s even possible. So stupid. It’s her damn day off and she couldn’t bring herself to leave the apartment, mainly… mainly because last year around this time she’d been madly in love with Evan and suddenly spring really had been all about raging hormones and silly nothings, for the first time ever since leaving high school and she had _loved_ that.

This spring… she’s still madly in love with Evan but he’s not there to walk through the Central Park – and basically every other park the city has to offer – with her or do the silly Sleepless in Seattle kissing thing on the Empire State Building or the other things all those disgustingly happy couples do in springtime in NYC.

 Instead, he ignores her at the PD when he doesn’t _have_ to talk to her and obviously avoids seeing her, inside and outside of work… and giving him her records very probably just hardened the aversion he seemed to have developed for her… maybe even turned it into downright disgust, seeing as her records show in great detail how _exactly_ she botched the job and how messed up she emerged from it.

 Damaged goods, she’d heard people murmur behind her back and yeah, that’s probably what she is. It had been stupid to pretend that the only side of her that exists is the carefree Laura, the one that can crack jokes while pulling and cutting wires attached to explosives and shrugging off her Sergeant’s disapproval with a roll of her eyes and a grin.

 And it had been stupid to think she could keep Evan out of the places in her head she didn’t even want to go to herself because Evan… Evan was _different_ from all the others. So yeah, Rodney also got to places in her head where she didn’t want him but she just can’t imagine Evan prodding and prying and generally being obnoxious about it like Rodney. And Carson… was that just her door bell?

 She tries to tell herself that she heard wrong but… yeah, there it goes again. For a moment, she contemplates simply ignoring it but that’s kind of hard since whoever it is, is _really_ determined to get on her nerves. Grunting in frustration she gets up to open the door, mentally grumbling about not even being allowed to do a little brooding once in a while. And she just really hopes it’s not the old lady from two floors down, asking her to check all her locks _again_ – why exactly did she tell that woman that she’s a cop again… Okay, no, it’s _very_ obviously _not_ the old lady in question.

 “You were right,” he says after a moment of mutual silence – stunned from her end… _insecure_ from his? – and when she doesn’t answer, he adds, “I _really_ didn’t know anything about you.” Right. So? “Laura… can I come in, please… for a moment?”

 Well… that’s not the man whom she got to know in the last weeks of their relationship. Actually… it’s the man she recognizes from when it went well… or at least the more subdued version of him. She’s tempted to say no but in the end… the sincerity in his face and the absolute absence of any anger or irritation win and she nods silently and steps aside.

 He enters her home and she shuts the door, leaning against it with her arms crossed in front of her chest, waiting for whatever he has to say. After taking a deep breath he holds the records she threw on his desk up and says, “I… read it. All of it. And I… Laura, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you.”

 Right. That’s what she’d thought. Now that he read it… she shakes her head. “Sorry I’m not the overachiever you thought I was.” She tried to sound detached, a little bored… but it somehow came out weary and even apologetic.

 Sighing, he rubs a hand over his eyes. “That’s not… what I meant, Laura. I just…”

 “Well, what _did_ you mean, then?” Dammit, she’s at it again. Snapping at him when she should keep her mouth shut… and this time he hadn't even provoked it. But talking about anything related to the undercover op isn't exactly her strength.

 She can recognize that it’s already getting to him – and who could blame him? – by the way he presses his lips to each other and slightly narrows his eyes. “Laura… could you please just _listen_ to me?” She wants to say something but he doesn’t let her. “What I meant was…” Yeah? She can’t help raising her eyebrow as he struggles with whatever he wants to say. “Ah, fuck it. I _miss_ you, Laura. And I’m sorry for… for how everything went.”

 He missed her. He _misses_ her. She wants to get away from the door, tell him she misses him as well, curl up with him on the couch and forget about all of this. But something that she thought she had forgotten – the reflex to get defensive of herself, push people away so they wouldn’t find out she has a weak and messed up side to herself – makes her latch onto something else entirely. “Then why did you _end_ it in the first place?”

 Of course it’s a valid question… but her _tone_ wasn’t valid and she knows that. “Laura, _you_ were the one who ended it. You told me you couldn’t go on like that and that you thought we were better off without each other. What was I supposed to say?”

 Right. Here they go again. She shakes her head, pushes herself away from the door and brushes past him, furious, half at him for accusing her of being the one who ended it… and half at herself because he’s a lot closer to the truth than she’d like to admit. Actually, she’s angry enough to turn around and say something as stupid as, “You could have contradicted me, Evan! You could have said that you don’t agree. You could have _done_ something instead of just… you could have…” You could have tried and saved me from myself and stop me from destroying the best thing that ever happened to me, she wants to add but her pride keeps her from doing it.

 However, it’s only _saying_ it that her pride stops her from. Against everything else – the tight feeling in her chest at seeing him flinch when she nearly yells at him, the tears that are just waiting to be spilled – her pride is powerless.

 “Well, I _am_ doing something now, Laura!” Now he’s yelling as well and it’s her turn to flinch. “You wanted to know what I meant when I said I was sorry for asking? Fine, I’ll tell you. I meant it when I said I read _all_ of it and you know what? That bastard’s lucky that he’s rotting away in prison because the first thing I wanted to do was show him how EOD personnel deal with scum like him.”

 There it is again. The intensity in him that he never shows on duty, only when he was with her. Like always… it both flatters her and scares her. Scares her for _him_ because she’s got a feeling that keeping all of that inside all of the time can’t be healthy for him. And like always… it makes her speechless. “But then I realized this was neither about him nor about me. It was about _you_ and I just… I wished I could have been there for you, back then.”

 She wants to tell him that she’s glad that he _wasn’t_ because she never would have been able to bear it if he’d seen the wreck she’d been back then but he simply keeps on talking. “And I also realized… what it must have stirred up again for you and that I never wanted to be responsible for something like this. I should have just let it lie. I’m… I’m really sorry, Laura.”

 “No,” she hears herself saying hoarsely after a moment of silence standing like a wall between them, “ _I’m_ sorry.” She really, really is. And that somehow… opened the flood gates and suddenly not even her considerable pride can stop her from talking. “I’m sorry I didn’t _tell_ you. It was classified but I still could have just told you and I’m sorry for being so unreasonable and such a pain in the ass and I know I don’t deserve you so of course if you want to leave you can because I’d underst…”

 “Do us both a favor, Laura. Never push me away like that again.” It’s not really the fact that he _said_ that that stops her from rambling… rather, it’s the fact that he just engulfed her in a hug and hoarsely whispered it into her ear. For a moment, she’s so surprised that she practically freezes up but against her expectation – apprehension really, but she’d never admit that – he doesn’t let himself be discouraged or angered by it.

 Instead he rubs her back and somehow she manages to relax into his embrace. Being so close to him, she’s surrounded by his scent again and his warmth and she realizes she missed not being able to lose herself in it anymore. And then it _really_ registers with her what he just said. She doesn’t dare looking up, just leans her forehead against his chest and asks, “Again?”

 “Yeah,” he sighs, “again.” And then he clears his throat and… hey, where did his arms suddenly go? Confused and a little irritated she does look up… just to see him sheepishly rub the back of his neck. Huh? “Well, I mean… if you… you know… if you’ll actually take me back.”

 Even after a year… it still astounds her every time she sees him flustered and confused and anxious. Genuinely curious and a little confused herself she bends her head and says, “What the hell gave you the idea I _wouldn’t_?”

 “Um… well… I though that maybe…” Is he _blushing_?

 Ah, hell. Not seeing a point in unnecessarily prolonging this anymore – because she knows what she wants and she’s almost sure that _he_ knows what he wants – she pushes all her doubts and fears and all the other irrational crap back into the dark corner of her mind where they belong and growls, “Just shut up,” followed by leaning forward and planting a kiss on his lips.

 After a moment of surprise he responds to her and she feels relief flooding through her. She deepens the kiss, not wanting it to end but yeah… oxygen does become an issue in the end, so she breaks it up and smirks at him. “That answer enough?”

 He grins back. “Yeah, pretty much.” So… what now, she wants to ask him but he bends down to put a soft kiss to her temple and says “Laura…” before he puts another one close to her ear and adds in a pleasantly low but serious voice, “I know you won’t talk about it… but maybe you could just let me be there for you, once in a while?”

 She wants to answer that she always let him be there for her but it dawns on her that… she didn’t. And that he means a very _specific_ issue. He’s right, of course, in assuming she won’t talk about it – at least not for a few more weeks – but there’s _something_ she can do. She buries her hand in his hair and gives him a little shaky smile. “I think I could do that, yeah.”

 Relief showing in his grin he bends down to give her another kiss, dragging it out delightfully long before he breaks it and says, “So… let me guess: the only thing coming close to food you had today was a cup of coffee and a piece of toast this morning?”

 What… how… _damn_. He just knows her too well and for a moment she wonders if it was the right decision to let him back into her life – after all, she has major issues with men being in her head – but then she decides that it’s not so bad to have _this_ man in her head and makes a face, saying, “None of your business, Sarge.”

 “I _knew_ it.” Damn, didn’t anyone ever tell him that he looks way too good when he’s smug? “Come on, you gotta eat, Officer. I think I just know the right place…” And with that he grabs her hand and she lets him drag her just a little, to show him that he does _not_ have her wrapped around his little finger just because of his great looks and the sexy voice and his intensity and just… basically everything that he is.

 Luckily, he makes it a little easier for her to try and tell herself she didn’t completely fall for his charm when he turns around and says, “Oh, and just for the record: you’re even _more_ of an overachiever than I thought.” Her first impulse is to snap at him for that but… then she realizes he meant it as a _compliment_. Right. Doesn’t have her wrapped around his little finger. Nuh-uh.

 Yeah, right.

 Ah, fuck, she thinks, he _has_ her wrapped around his little finger and she’d follow him through hell and back, anyway, so trying to resist him when he wants to take her out eating is just a little bit pointless. Giving up the last bits of her mock reluctance and deciding she could still get back at him for insults that are really compliments on another day, she tightens her grip around his hand gives him a little almost shy kiss on the cheek and suddenly springtime in New York City… seems to be a whole lot less grey and irritating. Maybe, she wonders, she can convince him to take her to that little park two blocks down the street before getting something to eat. Would be a nice ending… or beginning, as she prefers to look at it. Yeah… that would be really great.


	3. Christmas Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This really isn't the kind of Christmas Sergeant Evan Lorne had planned for this year...

**Christmas Day **

_“ Can’t make it out alone_   
_I’ve built my dreams around you_   
  
_And the boys of the NYPD choir still singing Galway Bay_   
_And the bells are ringing out for Christmas day. ”_

_The Pogues feat. Kristy MacColl, “Fairytale of New York”_

This is not really the kind of Christmas he’d had in mind this year. Actually, that’s not really the kind of Christmas he’d _ever_ had in mind for _any_ year. Okay, so it’s not the first time he’d been on call over Christmas and not even the first time they actually _called_ him but… yeah, ending up in hospital afterwards never happened before.

And of course because someone up _there_ has a perverse sense of humor, it had to be a car crash – of _course_ it was a car crash and not actually something related to the kind of work he usually does – that landed him in a hospital bed with a broken leg, bruised ribs and probably whiplash as well. So now he’s sitting around in the stupid bed, half drowsy with painkillers and waiting for the inevitable to happen. 

So… what the hell is keeping her for so… “What, in the name of Jesus, Mary and the holy St. Joseph did you think you were doing, _Sergeant Lorne_?” Right. There she is, practically storming the overcrowded ER and walking up to his bed with long strides, her hair flying and her eyes blazing. He feels the desire to grab her and find a dark corner for them and he’d totally do so… if it weren’t for the slightly inconvenient detail that his leg is still waiting to be set in a cast. Well, that and that she looks ready to murder someone – probably _him_ – right now.

She’s standing at the foot of his bed, huffing and puffing and he’s kind of glad about the painkillers in his system because they do help him a little in staying calm. “To quote this Officer I used to have on my team a while ago: my job?”

“Your job?” she echoes and repeats a little more forcefully, “Your _job_? Your job involves handling explosives, not showing off in stupid car chases!” Oh right, as if the former is any less dangerous than the latter.

And anyway… “I wasn’t showing off and it wasn’t a car chase.” Really, it wasn’t. They just happened to stumble over a squad car trying to detain a fugitive driver on the way back from their original job and volunteered to help them.

“Yeah, right, that’s _not_ what Mendoza said.” Of course. Mendoza. He should have known. Having gotten away with a few scratches, they’d let the rest of his team go home and yeah, he should have known that his second-in-command would call Laura the moment he was out of the hospital, so that she wouldn’t be told by someone she didn’t know. It’s really amazing how scared his team still is of Laura.

And it’s about time he makes them scared of _him_ again as well. But first of all… he has to deal with Laura. “Mendoza just wanted to get back at me for not letting him drive.” Seriously, this is more about Mendoza sulking at him than Mendoza being worried about Laura and what she would do to the poor hospital person charged with telling her.

“Maybe you should have. Apparently _you_ are not the world’s best driver.” What the _hell_ is going on with her? It’s not the first time she had to pick him up from the hospital and he’s also not the only one in their relationship ending up here now and then. Okay, so yeah, she does give him some crap every time he ends up here and he never can really keep from growling and grumbling at her when she gets herself in some scrape or other… but she really seems determined to piss him off today.

He sighs and tries not to let her irritate him. He never really managed that before but there’s a first time for everything. Would be a minor miracle but… it’s Christmas and that’s a good time for miracles, isn't it? “Look, Laura… Bendix and Ringhetti asked for our help in an armed robbery. What were we supposed to do? Say no?”

“That definitely sounds like a better idea than chasing some guys in a car through Manhattan, yeah.” That’s really not like her. Usually, by now she’d let it go and go from the wigging part to the far more pleasant kissing it better part.

And dammit, he’d love some kissing better now. The painkillers only work for so long and it’s starting to piss him off that they can’t even spare a nurse in that damn ER to slap some plaster on the leg, put a brace around his neck, bandage his ribs and send him off with another bottle of painkillers to try and celebrate what’s still left of Christmas Eve… no wait, should be Christmas Day by now. He can’t help groaning a little. “Just let it go, Laura. No one was killed and I’m gonna be a okay in a few weeks. And we got them in the end.”

She snorts. _What_? “Yeah, because you had the _genius_ idea to slam into them!”

At that, he can’t help smirking, with all the groundwork she just gave him. “Genius is what _you_ said.”

“Evan! You know _exactly_ what I mean!” No… no, he doesn’t. He really has no idea why she’s lacking both her usual sense of humor _and_ the spirit of the season. After all, _she_ was the one that felt responsible of making the apartment they’ve been sharing for six months now look appropriate to the season. However, seeing the frown on his face, she’s kind enough to explain herself further. “Slamming into other people’s cars is _not_ what I’d call safe driving!”

Okay, he’s had it now. Ignoring the pain from various sources shooting through his body, he straightens up on the bed and raises his voice, “Dammit, Laura, what’s with the driving advice all of a sudden?”

Getting defensive – and a little offended – she crosses her arms in front of her chest and glares at him. “I’m not trying to give you driving advice.”

Yeah, right. “Oh really? What are you doing _then_?”

Damn… he shouldn’t have put _that_ much acid into his voice. She looks very much like she can’t decide between yelling him into the ground and simply turning around and let him rot here until all eternity. But… to his overwhelming surprise… after another moment of sending death glares his way, she straightens up herself and says, trying to sound kind of… casual, “I’m trying to tell you that your daredevil days are over because I sure as hell ain’t raising our kid all on my own.”

Ahahaha, yeah, ri… Wait… what? Did she just say _our kid_? He kind of… stares at her but all she does is give him a pointed look and a barely suppressed grin. Oh… _God_. His brain and tongue both refuse to produce any coherent speech and so the only thing he can do is look at her like a deer in headlights and switch back and forth between pointing at her and pointing at himself.

That makes the grin turn into a smirk. “Yeah, that’s right, Sarge. You knocked up a Catholic schoolgirl.” Catholic… oh, _fuck_. Laura’s family is Irish Catholic. As in Irish _Catholic_.

And so the first thing that slips out is, “Holy crap, does that mean I have to _marry_ you?” of all things.

From the look of her face… that’s not really what she expected him to say. And he _swears_ it’s also not what he had _wanted_ to say. But he knows her grandmother who never lets an opportunity go by to remind them that they are living in sin and that she does _not_ approve and he knows her father – proud Irish-descended cop in the third generation and _very_ proud father of five girls – and as progressive he tries to be… hearing that he knocked Laura up before they were married in the face of God will _not_ go over well with him.

There’s a moment of very strained silence and he’s about to tell her that he’s very sorry and that _Jesus fucking Christ_ he’s _happy_ about her news – because damn, he _is_ – when she gives him a _look_ and deadpans, “That’s… probably the worst proposal I ever heard.”

But… he wasn’t _proposing_. Not… really, at least. However, if he says that now he might end up with having to write child support checks being the only connection to his future kid. She’d probably even be right to do it. And of course he can’t even blame it on the painkillers anymore, judging by how his leg in particular starts to feel. He tries not to sound too strained when he tries to cut his losses. “Look, uh… it’s not like I’m not happy or anything but…”

“But you’re not happy.” _Fuck_. That’s not what he meant! He hastens to correct himself but she drew her conclusions and because she’s Laura Cadman she doesn’t even wait for him to explain anything. “Okay, you know, that’s fine by me. I’m just gonna… I think I need to… get back to midnight mass or Nana will… well, you know her… anyway… I think I’m gonna stay with my parents afterwards.”

And with that, she turns around, to bail on him and because she hasn’t done that ever since he’d asked her why she’d said he didn’t know anything about her he forgets that he’s sitting on a hospital bed with his leg in a soft brace. “Laura!” he calls after her and, when his foot hits the ground and he’s reminded why they’d made him put his leg up, he adds, “Holy _crap_ , Jesus fucking Christ, god _dammit_ …”

He’d have gone on infinitely, ignoring all the looks people all around him are throwing him, but at least it also grabs Laura’s attention enough that she actually stops and even turns around again. “Taking the name of the Lord in vain on _Christmas Day_ , Sergeant? I’m appalled.” Yeah, right. The only time she’s a Catholic is when she attends midnight mass on Christmas and that’s only because her Nana would denounce her to be her granddaughter if she didn’t. Also, off the top of his head, he could name her at least ten occasions where the Second Commandment was something she’d entirely forgotten, as well.

Gritting his teeth and ignoring the excruciating pain, he limps up to her. “I’ll take the name of the Lord in vain any day I like, _Officer_.” Good God, the amount of pain a stupid broken leg can generate is simply _ridiculous_. Trying to control his breathing, he makes another attempt at explaining the whole not-proposal thing to her. “But… that’s not… the point. First of all… I _am_ happy. I swear, Laura, this is wonderful… _Jesus_ … wonderful news and… God…” He must have stumbled or something but before he hits the ground Laura steps up to him and catches him.

“Hey, champ, let’s take it a little slower, huh?” Very funny. And he can walk on his own, thank you very… “Nuh-uh, back to your bed, Sarge.” Damn, she’s in her “No buts!” mode and it’s really hard to withstand her when _other_ things are occupying your mind. So he lets her put an arm around his midriff and puts his arm around her shoulders. After a few labored steps she adds, “And on the way there we can talk about why your first thought when I tell you that I’m pregnant is “Oh my God, I have to _marry_ her.”.” She _tried_ to sound matter-of-fact and admonishing but he’s pretty sure he could hear laughter somewhere in there.

For a moment he contemplates pretending he’s too busy with gritting his teeth but she’d probably see through it anyway. “That… _wasn’t_ my first thought. Honestly.”

“Oh really? What _was_ your first thought?” Yeah, well, that’s a good question.

Just two or three more steps… “Nothing. I didn’t… think.” Before she can be her usual opinionated self and do another bail run he manages to add, “I just… _felt_.” They arrived at the bed and he moves to lean against it. For a moment… they just look at each other and he sees incomprehension in her eyes. Silently sighing, he cups her cheek with his hand. Taking great care not to put weight on the injured leg, he tries to stand a little taller and kisses her.

Because, see, this is the only way he can tell her what went on in his head and his heart when it had registered with him what she’d tried to tell him. Okay, so, there are a few _other_ ways he can imagine telling her but they’re… not hospital safe and… “Ow, dammit.” Hello whiplash, it’s good to know you didn’t leave me yet, he thinks sourly and reaches up to tenderly rub his neck.

“Aw, poor little bunny.” There’s _definitely_ laughter in her voice now and also in her eyes as she bends down to give him a kiss on the forehead. He makes a face. “So what’s with all the marriage anxiety?”

He sighs. “I was just… I mean… I thought… your family and getting knocked up unmarried don’t really mix well and everything…”

She snorts. What the hell is so _funny_ about it? Oh right, _she’_ s not the one having to explain to Ronald Cadman – a legend concerning his shooting skills – why his little girl ended up pregnant before ending up married. “Jeez, Evan, it’s the 21st century. And dad _knows_ that. They _all_ know that.”

He can’t help making a face again. “Really? I don’t think Nana Cadman knows that.”

It was just supposed to be a flippant aside… but for some reason her immediate reaction is blanching and mumbling, “Oh crap. Nana will skin you alive.” Oh, gee, thanks, that’s just the thing he’d wanted to hear. “How about… Oh, I know. How about we just...go away? Like… oh… Mexico? What about Mexico?”

Good thing that his ribs still hurt. That makes not cracking up a lot easier. Trying to keep his face as straight as possible, he quips, “You know, that’s the worst proposal _I_ ever heard.” Mh… was that how _he_ looked when she took the p-word in her mouth? And… did she feel like he does now, wondering what the hell would be so bad about being married to him?

Actually… that’s a good question. What _would_ be so bad about being married to her? So, okay, she’s incredibly stubborn, draws conclusions much too fast, can be a real pain in the neck… but she’s also caring, passionate about everyone and everything she cares about, fiercely loyal… “Doesn’t mean that I won’t say yes, though.”

She purses her lips. Oh God, did he put his foot in his mouth _again_? Or… was someone just tricked by her big mouth? “You… uh… what?”

Ow, crap, chuckling _really_ hurts. “I just said, yes, I will marry you.” And because after almost two years he _does_ know her well enough, he adds, “And no, not just because of the kid.”

What’s it with Laura and stunned silences? But at least he kind of got back at her for dropping the bomb about being pregnant on him like that. Thankfully, with Laura silence never lasts long, so after another moment, there’s something like a… squeal coming from her? Was that what the sound she just made is called? “I’d hug you now and then do some highly inappropriate and decidedly un-Catholic things to you, you know, but you just _had_ to play hero and land yourself in here.”

That’s… _evil_. Because he loves it when she’s being highly inappropriate and decidedly un-Catholic. But he can still use it to his advantage. “Aw, come on… I know you love it when I play the hero.”

She scrunches her nose. “Yeah, well… just a little bit.” Whoa, pregnancy apparently made her soft. She’d never have admitted that if she weren’t… “But I swear, if you ever do that again, you can say good bye to a few very vital parts of your anatomy.” Okay. He revises his last statement… pregnancy made her _scarier_.

He actually has to swallow. “No argument there.”  

“Thought so,” she says and grins. “And now… we’ll get you back in that bed and I’ll see if I can find a nurse or something. There are presents waiting to be unpacked at home and I just can’t wait to see your reaction to yours this year.” If he didn’t have to concentrate on not letting her see just how difficult the simple act of getting into bed is for him at the moment, he’d have told her that he’s pretty sure that whatever she put under the tree for him can’t match the gift – the _gifts_ actually – she gave him here. But as it is… he’ll probably have to wait for that for a little while longer. That’s not really bad, though, because… because, _Jesus_ , he’ll have a lifetime to tell her.

 _Finally_ realizing what just happened, he grabs her hand as she’s about to harass the ER personnel and pulls her to him, into another kiss and it doesn’t matter that he’s in pain or that they’re providing the entertainment for the rest of the ER inhabitants or that he’ll have to face Nana Cadman tomorrow… no, all that matters is that she’s here and that in a few months there will be a little girl with her hair or a little boy with his eyes and that _he’ll have a lifetime with her, holy crap_ and that’s more Christmas miracles that he ever thought he’d get. Yeah, he thinks and pulls her even closer, it’s really not the kind of Christmas he had in his mind. It’s so much _better_.


End file.
